


Lento assai

by dotfic



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:25:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene for 2x08, "Company Man."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lento assai

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to musesfool for the beta.

It had been quick the first time, a few running steps, a few blinks. The elevator doors opening, Neal calling 911 on his cell as he ran towards Kent's office, and then Peter lying on the floor. All of it too fast, staccato, the adrenaline sting and fear so sharp it'd left Neal breathless.

But going back for Kent seemed an endless process. His hand slipped on the door handle this time, and irritation flashed through him, not at Kent, but at Peter, for making him go back, for making him take the extra seconds that should've gone to saving Peter.

Neal jerked open the glass door and ran for the chair where Kent was listing to the side, mouth moving as he struggled to breathe. He was surprisingly heavy for a man his size, mumbling under his breath as Neal hooked his hands under his armpits and pulled him off the couch. The man smelled of Armagnac and too much Hermes. Half-dragging, half-carrying the bastard, Neal got them both to the door, shoved it open with his body. He pushed Kent through, letting him fall to the hallway carpet with a thump before Neal bent over, grabbed his wrists, and hauled him the rest of the way to the elevator.

The doors were open. Peter had somehow pulled himself halfway in, keeping the elevator doors open with his legs while he slumped sideways against the wall.

"Peter?" Neal let go of Kent, and knelt inside the elevator next to Peter.

Peter's eyes were still open, his mouth barely moving as he mumbled, "Get Kent...in."

So Neal did that. Propped him up against the opposite wall, got the control panel open because the security guard still had things locked down. Neal hoped the guy would get a clue once the EMTs showed up in the lobby.

His fingers hesitated. Dozens upon dozens of beautiful, sleek fast cars, hundreds of door locks, countless safe combinations and Neal suddenly couldn't remember what to do to a set of elevator controls, which wire to tug first, even though he'd just done this, minutes ago, he'd just done this.

"You with me?" Neal glanced at Peter.

"Still here." But his eyes were closed.

Still conscious, that was something. Neal kept his fingers on the wires, lower lip caught beneath his teeth. He bit down hard enough for it to hurt, and then his fingers moved, without his having to think about the steps. They remembered.

The doors slid shut. Neal let go of the controls and grabbed Peter's shoulders. "You'd better talk to me."

The elevator started its smooth hum downward, a nearly imperceptible drop Neal felt in his stomach.

Peter's eyelids fluttered. "Check on Kent."

"Damn it." Neal's fingers dug tighter into Peter's shoulders, the smooth scent of expensive wool mixed with the Armagnac and the clean smell of Peter's deodorant. But he did it, moving away, putting his fingers against the thin, slow pulse in Kent's neck. His eyes were shut and he seemed to be out completely.

"He's alive," Neal said, scurrying back across the floor to Peter.

"Good," Peter said. The word seemed to be for Neal as much as it was acknowledgment of Kent's condition. His fingers curled around Neal's wrist, gripping so tight Neal's skin started to turn red.

Neal put the fingers of his other hand against Peter's neck, finding the pulse. It was like Kent's, weak and slow. Keeping his fingers there, Peter's skin too cool, Neal sat with his back against the wall and pulled Peter against him.

He slid his hand beneath the lapels of Peter's suit jacket, and found his heartbeat. The faint slowness of it pushed against his palm, the stuttering rise and fall of Peter's struggle to breathe as the elevator continued its descent. Neal kept his hand there. The digital floor numbers flickered by, and Neal kept his hand there.

The elevator gave a high-tech _ping_ noise and the doors slid open, revealing EMTs in jackets with gurneys and medical equipment in durable plastic boxes.

Two of them went for Kent, while more hands reached down for Peter.

One of them was talking to Neal. _Sir, you need to let go of him and let us...sir..._

Neal let go.

* * *

Bright squares of sunlight falling over her, a paper cup in her hand -- coffee -- Elizabeth walked towards Neal, smile wide and warm. The hospital waiting room was done in a pale, badly misguided orange with bland prints of seascapes hanging on the walls.

"Neal, hey." Elizabeth held up her cup. "Do you want some coffee, they've got some, there's a machine over --"

"No, thanks." He shoved his hands in his pockets.

The smile was bright and genuine and went all the way to her eyes but there were dark smudges beneath them, a tired pull at the corners of her mouth. Her fingers gripped the paper cup a little too tightly, her hair pulled up into a sloppy ponytail.

"They said he's fine," Elizabeth said, "he'll be fine," and the tightness in Neal's chest eased. Elizabeth blinked and took a sip of coffee, a little frown line forming between her eyes. For a second she looked too much like Kate, and then the illusion was gone. "I hate this part of it, y'know?" Her voice lowered. "This is the part I really hate." She gave a sharp little laugh. "Not as much as Peter hates being stuck in the hospital and getting stuck with needles and getting fussed over."

"I'd imagine so." The tune of the music box caught in his head, an earworm he couldn't shake. His stomach knotted again.

"Anyway, you can go in and see him, if you want."

"Yeah, sure."

"They need to keep him one more day to monitor," Elizabeth said. "They said it would've been really bad if the EMTs hadn't gotten to him fast enough."

He moved towards the door, and Elizabeth touched his arm, making him turn towards her, unsure of what was going on, what she wanted. Then her arms were around him, her forehead pressed against his shoulder.

"Thank you," she said, her voice muffled.

Neal's arms went around her, easy, instinctive, his hands light against the warm curve of her lower back.

Then she stepped away, and he let go. With Mozart still running through his head, Neal walked out of the waiting room.

~end


End file.
